Something happens to his face. He seems to register something, and his cheeks darken under his bristly beard. His eyes harden. His spine goes ramrod straight. “You’ve misunderstood,” he says. “This is a guest cabin.” My stomach sinks. “We’re going to live at your place?” It doesn’t seem physically possible, but he stiffens even more and backs up another step until he’s almost out of the bedroom and into the hall. A heavy blanket of dread descends over me.
